


Tears of an Angel

by exquisite-rose (ExquisiteRose)



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, I didn't think it was so bad it needed to be explicit, I've been informed on two accounts that it's sad, M/M, More of Brian's POV, Not a happy ending really, Not first person, Quite a bit of self-hate and regret going about, Season 1/Episode 22, Small descriptions of sexual situations, Spoilers, Violence, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExquisiteRose/pseuds/exquisite-rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Justin's bashing; after the prom to the hospital scene. Brian's thoughts on all that occurred. Rated T, for violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> You'll notice this is from Season one, and that it's mostly the same to the last episode-I just added in a scene, or two, and gave it some perspective.
> 
> Rated: T
> 
> W/C: 1281
> 
> 'Apostrophes indicate thoughts'.
> 
> Warnings: Violence. Some mentions of suggestive content of the sexual nature. Self-blame.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do no own Queer As Folk. Cowlip and Showtime do.

Twirling him around on a whim, Brian grudgingly smiled as Justin sang the lyrics to Save The Last Dance while simultaneously laughing, causing his voice to break a bit. "Don't forget who's tak-ing you ho-ome, and in whose arms you're gonna be.." he trails off with a grin, voice rebounding off the walls of the parking garage even though he was speaking quietly. Excitedly, but soft and quiet, nonetheless.  
"Did you see their faces?" Justin says victoriously.  
"Yeah," Brian confirms indulgently. "We gave them a prom they'll never forget." Justin laughs breathlessly.  
"Me neither," he says, shaking his head. Brian wraps his scarf around Justin's neck, using it to pull him closer, to keep him in range. He redirects Justin, pushing him against the Jeep with a grin. "It was the best night of my life," Justin continues, his hand rubbing Brian's arm.  
"Even if it was ridiculously romantic," Brian agrees airily, trying to make seem as though it wasn't so important, so wonderful. He's sure Justin can see through his charade, especially with the way he can't seem to stop smiling, the way he repeatedly gets lost in Justin's deep, blue eyes, mesmerized by their intensity.  
Justin appears to be equally as enthralled by Brian, both of them looking into each other's eyes intensely. Brian leans his head forward while Justin tilts his, in preparation for the kiss to come. Brian pauses, really looks at Justin, before capturing his lips.  
Their eyes drift closed.  
The kiss quickly becomes more than a small peck, as when Brian pulls back first with a smile, barely perceptible, to nuzzle his nose with Justin's affectionately, as fluttering and light as a butterfly's wings, he quickly presses his lips back, tongue opening Justin's mouth, the wet cavern familiar in it's warm moistness.  
When he retracts, he makes no other move and merely looks at Justin, who sniffs in this sudden attention. Brian grabs the end of the silk, white scarf, uses it to pull Justin away from the Jeep, once again flipping their positions, saying a light 'later' as he twirls the scarf in his fingers, which tighten before letting go. Justin laughs lightly as Brian heads towards his Jeep. Brian glances back just as Justin looks away, opening the door to his car, and getting in.  
Closing the door, he looks at the side mirror of his Jeep with a smile as he sees Justin walking along, swinging his arms, hands fisting the scarf around his neck. When a figure appears with a bat, Brian's heart races, and he feels a sudden rush of panic. He wants to call out, but it gets stuck in his throat. He hurries to open the door.  
"Justin!" He calls his name in warning, his voice, thankfully, co-operating with a hoarse cry. He's running towards Justin, who, hearing Brian call his name, turns with a Sunshine smile on his face for his older lover. The crack! of the baseball bat connecting with Justin's forehead is gruesome, and Brian is sure he hears bone break. Justin crumples to the floor, unconscious.  
Brian's too late to prevent the attack, but the attacker is still there. He pushes him down (Chris Hobbs), and picks up the fallen bat when Chris falls with a frustrated grunt. He gets up, tries to flee, but Brian gives chase with a fierce determination, and stops him before he gets very far, the baseball bat colliding with the back of Chris's knees, making his fall to the ground with a cry of pain. Brian gets a certain satisfaction from his pain, but drops the bat, deciding to assist Justin instead of lingering.  
Kneeling down beside him, Brian grabs his shoulder, and gives him a small shake. When Justin doesn't react, his panicked mind goes into overdrive. 'What if he's dead? He can't be dead'. He presses his head into Justin's unmoving back. "No, no, no, no," he mumbles into Justin's body. His words become louder as his panic increases. "No, no, no! God!" he cries, the sound echoing in the parking garage.  
He fumbles for his phone, dials the number for 911, all the time checking Justin's pulse, relieved when he feels a slow heartbeat in the vein of his wrist. A woman answers the phone, "Hello? What's your emergency?"  
Brian tells her what's happened shakily, sure he's repeated the same thing multiple times, "He's been hit, hit in the forehead. You have to help him; he's been hit!" His voice borders on hysterical.  
"Calm down, sir." Brian resists the urge to retort and tell her to shut the fuck up and to stop telling him what to do. "Tell me where you are." Brian rattles off their location in an unsteady voice. 'He needs help. Why aren't they helping? Can't they see he needs help?'  
He doesn't think to call Daphne.  
He calls Michael instead.  
...  
When the ambulance arrives at the hospital, Brian is numb of all feeling. He can feel the tears running down his face; he can smell the blood from Justin's wound. He knows the bloodied scarf in his hand, the red so dark, such a contrast from the bright white, is proof enough if Justin's frail, bandaged head wasn't proof, of his failure to help Justin, to protect him.  
As they pull the gurney with Justin's unconscious body on it out of the ambulance, Brian follows slowly, the scarf held loosely in his hand, staining it red with Justin's blood.  
He can't go into the emergency room. Of course, he knew he wouldn't be able to, but it's a shock to be denied something he so clearly needed.  
Alone, he sits on a bench outside of the operation room, bloodied scarf around his neck. His tears are pouring down his cheeks, more than when he cried for his abusive and neglectful childhood at the hands of his parents; he can't stop their flow. He doesn't want to.  
He deserves this pain. The way he'd treated this blonde angel all this time, the way he denied him; yes, he deserves this and more.  
In the end, this was his fault. He'd come to the prom, flaunted his and Justin's homosexuality to the homophobic Chris Hobbes, the boy bordering on a fiery and fierce hate for all things even remotely gay, had kissed Justin unashamedly in front of all his peers.  
He should have known this wondrous night would have ended bad, should have know God wouldn't have given him this miraculous and happy day, should've known the moment he kissed Justin against the side of his Jeep. Before that, too, when they were singing, drunk from the excitement, or when he was warmly received by Justin when he arrived. He should've known it was too good to be true.  
When Michael's footsteps echo throughout the hall of the hospital, Brian gives no indication that he noticed. Even when Michael sits down next to him, hand clapping Brian's shoulder before moving up his neck to soothing rub the hair on the base of his neck, Brian ignores him.  
He blames himself. From the moment he brought Justin home, when he fucked him, when he climaxed with him, 'the greatest fuck of his life', when they ran through the hospital to see his son, the whole time, to now, he ought to have known, ought to have stopped him.  
He should've have tried harder to get rid of him; he should've have been more persistent. Instead, he slowly gave in, let himself be absorbed by the beautiful blonde, by his Sunshine.  
He should've tried harder.  
'This is all my fault,' he thinks as he sniffs, fingering the bloody scarf. 'All my fault.'

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are lovely.


End file.
